Meet the Coles
by LemonSmoothie
Summary: Wedding bells and primal fears go hand in hand. Sequel to Golden Apples in Silver Settings [Chapter 3 uploaded]
1. Stroke of Luck

Chapter 1 – A Cole Winter's Night

_Time passes more quickly when you only have three days to live._

_The prison cell, empty of all but the most pitiable of the pitiable, the condemned, the lost, the wretched. Not even the rats envied her, nor the spiders. She envied the spiders. The dead ones most._

_No light came directly in. Day, night, all the same. All too short. And she was all too human before the executioner. Three days left, or was it two?_

_The cold didn't stay away. The architect knew what he was doing, getting a fat bonus for making the dungeon the last choice for a place to spend your final days. Cold, dirty, dark. Wet, too. Water somewhere. The dripping was more than she could take, reminding her that time wouldn't stand still. And still wouldn't. And still wouldn't. Drip, drip, drip._

_Changing of the guard meant close to mealtime. Scraps. Fight the rats for them. She didn't care for the rats. She didn't care for the food. Only six meals left anyway._

_Drip, drip, drip._

_She had a cough. Couldn't sleep; sore throat, headache. Nose full of stink. Bug bites. Scratching took energy, though. Energy required food, and food required fighting the rats. The rats got most of it. She'd be lucky to get enough to make four meals. Six meals left, and she wouldn't even get them. She hated the rats._

_She killed one of them, but it bit her first. Bitter. All of the food was bitter. No one puts work into cooking for the condemned._

_Drip. Won't it end? Drip. Is there nobody there? Drip. She wanted to die so her ghost could haunt the place. Drip. They'd all pay when she haunted them. Drip._

_Buzz. A wasp circled her head. Worse than the rats because she couldn't see it. Harder to kill. Still painful. And loud. Anyone else would think that some noise, any noise, would make her less lonely, but she knew better. Buzz and drip are worse than nothing._

_Worse than nothing, the condemned. How many days was it, again? Drip, drip, drip. How many drips left? How many drips until they came to get her?_

_Maybe someone else would get her first. Some hero. Save her. This food made her crazy, wanting a hero. There were no heroes in the Empire. There were no good men. If there were good men, she wouldn't be in prison._

_Drip, drip, clang. A man came near. Big man. Dead inside. This was her hero, come to save her. Her terrifying hero. Her escape. Cure the headache by removing the problem._

_Soon, no more condemned. Only drip, drip, drip, drip._

_Scream._

XXX

"I heard you," said Ward Cole. "Another flashback?"

June Cole panted. "Another nightmare."

"You know you aren't in danger any longer. You're with me now, not with them."

"I know that."

Ward Cole pulled his wife closer. "And our visitors will be here soon."

"Who?"

"Must have been a bad one. Our son. He's coming to visit. Bringing a lady friend, too."

June Cole nodded and buried her head in her pillow. "Pray they arrive safely."

XXX

A windy afternoon meant a chilly road for Celes Chere and Locke Cole. Locke and Celes, officially lovebirds. The scenery wasn't much, but Locke wasn't looking at it. All the good sights were next to him. Locke had to pick between the ring on Celes's left hand and the dress on the rest of her for Most Brilliant Object In View. He chose her face, instead, which went from pale to flushed after he did so. The hand with the ring went from In View to Hidden Under His Hand. Her head went to his shoulder.

The horse in front marked their progress with a steady clip-clop, clip-clop down the road. The carriage in tow rumbled along, ride as smooth as silk. The driver up front didn't disturb the happy couple for fear of losing his tip. He only wanted to make someplace in time for dinner.

Locke felt warm breath on his neck. It came from a woman in need of a little comfort. Former Imperial General or not. The Generals were great in war but only fair in love. Celes was less than confident that she could win over a family used to living under the heel of her old boss. Locke wanted her to know that she had nothing to worry about. He wanted her to relax. The kind words and the warm hugs and the gentle caresses managed the relaxing part, but the worry wouldn't go away. He couldn't even get it out of himself, much less his love.

Looked at that way, he was afraid. He was afraid of something cataclysmic yet vague. Something would go wrong. Something had to. All the pretty words worked fine in the short term, but now that he was done winning her over, she had to do the same with his family, and the more he thought about that, the more he shivered.

Maybe dinner would help things. The sun almost gone, he signaled for the driver to pull over at _The Happy Octopus_. Just what the doctor ordered, and just where he had his reservations. Dinner reservations were better than reservations about introducing his love, anyway, and a couple of courses over a couple of candles might help Celes drown her jitters in cheer.

Failing that, in beer.

XXX

"Even your fashion sense. It's exquisite."

"You're just saying that." Celes returned his gaze.

"No, really. You look like a dream. A good dream. You make everyone else seem dull by comparisoin."

"You're a flatterer."

"I mean it. I mean, compare yourself to…" Locke trailed off. His eye seemed to have caught something out of the ordinary near the reception desk. "Those guys. Look."

Celes turned to see what had his attention. It turned out to be a gathering of dark figures dressed in white robes with green hoods. About a half dozen of them stood inside the restaurant already, and more were filing in the front door. Their faces were hidden, and their body language betrayed nothing of their intentions. The only things they were doing were walking and _chanting_.

Chanting. In some unfamiliar and probably archaic tongue. The figure at the head seemed to be chanting directly at the maitre'd, who looked like he found such assertiveness irritating. The noise grew louder as more and more of hooded somethings crowded into the lobby.

_I've seen them somewhere before,_ thought Celes. _But where?_

"The Cult of Kefka," Locke said, almost as if he were reading Celes's mind. "What are they doing here?"

The lead cultist grasped a gold medallion around his neck and shoved it in the face of the maitre'd. The maitre'd responded by growing more and more panicky. He was clearly sweating, and he began to have something like a nervous twitch. Clearly, wanted the cultists to leave. Clearly, the cultists had other ideas.

All at once, the lights in the building went out. Celes could still see by the last rays of the setting sun, but she could no longer distinguish individual cultists, except by their eyes. Two pale yet piercing orbs peered out from under each hood but the leaders, where there were three. Apart from those, the whole cult looked like a pulsating blob of silhouetted robe-covered flesh. The chanting grew louder.

Several of the cultists raised their hands threateningly. At four locations around the rim of the crowd, swirls of red fire materialized and illuminated a portion of the room. The eerie firelight reflected off the leader's medallion in such a way as to make him look like a mythological devil figure wearing a victim's soul on a chain around his neck. He stretched his arms in front of him, his eyes flashed, and jolts of lightning shot from the tips of his fingers to the floor in front of the maitre'd. After hitting the floor, the magical bursts gathered into spheres, grew, and gradually assumed vaguely humanoid shapes. After a few seconds, color features began to form on the outlines of these shapes.

"That's us!" Celes whispered to her lover. "They're after us, aren't they?"

"We'd best slip away, fast." Lock grabbed Celes by the hand and attempted to lead her away from the table.

"No, wait," Celes hissed. "Look, they have the perimeter of the room surrounded. We can't just run out the back."

Sure enough, under the cover of partial darkness and the distraction created by the pyrotechnics, members of the Cult of Kefka had assumed positions near all of the windows and other exists, sealing Celes and Locke off from any potential escape route.

"Just great," said Locke. "What now?"

"We'll have to hold our ground. Fight."

"I can't let them hurt you!"

"Darling, we've both faced worse."

"But we're unprepared and unarmed, and we no longer have Espers to help us. We have to run."

"Since when have you ever needed Espers to fight for you?"

"I usually have at least a knife."

"Fine, then. Maybe they won't notice us. Let's try to blend in."

More cultists flowed through the front entrance every second. They looked as though their numbers could have been limitless, and the more who came inside, the less time it would take them to search the restaurant for their prey. Celes felt a bead of sweat form on her forehead. Her right hand moved slowly over to her butter knife. As her fingers closed around the handle, the chanting grew louder still.

And then, a new sound intermingled with the crazed voices. The new sound was soft, high-pitched, and melodic, in stark contrast with the chants. Celes turned toward the origin of the sound and saw through the light of the magical fires that a woman was standing atop one of the dinner tables playing a flute. Of everyone in the entire restaurant, the woman was the only one to look at all peaceful. Even that was short lived, though; after about ten bars of music that in any other setting would have been soothing, the woman stopped, waved her arms frantically, and shouted for everyone in the room to duck down. Her face went from calm to stormy.

Celes and Locke, having no desire to stand out, obeyed the order to duck. Both dropped to the floor, and Locke took Celes in his arms. Both waited to see what would happen next.

For nearly exactly a half minute, precisely nothing happened. The Cult of Kefka stood motionless, with the leader gazing ominously at the brave flute player and everyone else standing still as stone. Then, the room got darker. Slowly at first and then more rapidly, the light in the windows began to disappear behind a black cloud. The same happened in every window, as if the cloud were enveloping the building for the very purpose of blocking out all of the sunlight. Soon the only illumination left came from swirling fire in the lobby. And with a puff and a crash, even those went out.

The crash was the crash of windows breaking. All of them at once. From all directions, glass burst inward with a noise that startled even the grim cultists, whose chanting morphed at once into a cacophony of wailing and screaming. The regular restaurant patrons screamed, too, but when they did it, it sounded human. The cultists sounded like _something_, but that something was far from human. It was the kind of something one would expect to hear from a dying behemoth.

Accompanying all of this noise was the squawking of thousands of birds. Birds, which had just burst through the windows. Birds, which had been summoned by the mysterious melody of the tabletop flutist. Birds, which were scratching, biting, and clawing at the Cult of Kefka. The birds would have been formidable in any environment, if only by virtue of sheer numbers and speed, but in dark room with only a few narrow paths of escape for their victims to attempt to use, the birds were close to unstoppable. The moans of terror emanating from the doomed cultists became mixed with cries of pain and panic. Those anywhere near doors or windows attempted to climb or run to safety, with limited success. Those not stood no chance. Even the leader, only a minute ago the intimidator, found himself fighting for his life. Before long, the lights under his hood went out.

Five minutes were all it took for the birds to pick the restaurant clean of the cult. That accomplished, the majority of them flew back out through the broken windows, letting what was left of the sun back in. Someone managed to fix the artificial lights, revealing some innumerable mass of corpses littering the floor. There were dead birds aplenty, but the robed figures lay far more prominent amongst the debris. Some had been impaled by shards of window glass, but most had been messily clawed and pecked to death. Some scavenger birds remained to feed on the cultist bodies that had not yet been completely picked over.

Above it all stood none other than Arion, the waitress. Her face was impossible to read, but her quivering body betrayed how distraught she was at seeing the carnage around her. She had saved at least two lives, but their salvation had come at a cost.

And speaking of costs, the restaurant manager, heretofore cowering in a corner, suddenly had the presence of mind to begin to berate Arion for causing so much property damage. No one else had the courage to speak at all.


	2. Streak of Misfortune

"That was…bizarre." Celes commented dryly.

A surprised cry arose from the room. Arion, suddenly completely naked, blushed until she looked like a bipedal apple. She swiftly grabbed a pair of trays to cover herself.

The manager's face was a frightening shade of purple. "How dare you do a striptease when I'm talking to you!" He clenched his fist.

Locke chuckled. "Whoopsie."

"Whoopsie?" Celes whispered. "Locke, you didn't!"

"I was just trying to take her flute. Then I got a little carried away."

Celes clutched her forehead. "What did I tell you about stealing women's clothing?"

"Um…it's cute and endearing?"

"Yes, but the exact term I used was 'don't'!"

"Want a waitress uniform?"

"No!"

Celes slapped Locke across the face.

"Geez, sorry," Locke said. "I didn't mean to set you off like that. No need to be jealous, though. I'd never fall for a floozy like that."

"Floozy?"

"She's got no clothes on."

"That's because you took them!" Celes slapped Locke again.

"Look, she's leaving," said Locke. Celes turned to see the waitress girl wrapping a tablecloth around herself and shuffling out of the building, as embarrassed as anyone could be. Her boss fumed at her the entire time.

"Glad I'm not her," said Locke.

Celes slapped him again. "_You_ did this to her!"

"Ouch! Didn't I apologize for that?"

"You need to apologize to her. Do you think she's even going to come back for an apology, though?"

"Come back?" Locke blinked. "No, but she sure was naked."

The force of Celes's hand across Locke's face was enough to send him flying.

"I get the point," said Locke, picking himself up and dusting himself off. "So, uh, who's picking up the check?"


	3. Shame of Discovery

Chapter 3 – Shame of Discovery

Locke couldn't help but stare in the direction of the front door to _The Happy Octopus_. His latest theft victim intrigued him for reasons he could not quite ascertain. Something about her was alluring, but what? Was it that she saved the entire restaurant from the cultist attack, or…

"Locke," said Celes, "that's enough. I'm not really comfortable with you staring at naked women, okay?"

His fiancee's chastisement snapped him back to reality. "What? She was naked?"

"She was naked because you stole her clothes. We've been over this."

Locke turned his gaze to a golden medium between Celes and the door, in hopes of avoiding further wrath. He partially succeeded, though he found himself staring at the enraged owner of establishment ranting and raving at what serving staff remained. Most of the women working for him seemed more than a little rattled by the cultist commotion, though most of the men seemed to have forgotten the danger entirely as soon as that one waitress's clothes vanished without a trace.

"Go apologize," Celes told Locke.

"How?" said Locke.

"Go find her."

"I thought you didn't want me chasing naked women."

Locke's comment did not amuse Celes. "I don't. But I want you to apologize to that girl and give her back her clothes."

"By the way, I got you some nice jewelry," said Locke. "Some accessories, too. What shoe size are you?"

"Locke!" Celes looked ready to hit him again.

"Seriously," said Locke, "shouldn't you be the one to chase her down? You know, since she's naked?"

"You need to apologize," said Celes.

"How do I do that, though?"

"By chasing her down and telling her."

"But you just said you didn't want me chasing naked women."

Celes snapped and decked Locke in the ear. "Do it, or this marriage is off. You need to learn to respect women a little better."

"Okay, okay," said Locke. "Oww, by the way. You've got a good left hook. You ever consider boxing?"

"I felt my talents were better served by the military," said Celes.

"Yes, sir," said Locke. "I'll be on my way to track down the recruit then, sir."

Celes smacked him again.

"I mean, ma'am."

XXX

If nothing else could redeem the evening, there was always the fact that Jidoor was pretty and lively even late at night. Had a band of crazy Kefka cultists not just attacked a high class restaurant, neither Locke nor Celes would have felt any jitters about wandering around sans sunlight. Even in the current situation, the noise of happy yuppies babbling on over their meals in outdoor cafes, the smells of the finest bakeries on the continent, and the soft lights of the strategically placed street lamps all worked to soothe those unaccustomed to nightlife. The lights, especially, made looking for a wayward reluctant nudist a bit easier than it could have been in, say, Zozo.

Locke figured that a girl with enough modesty not to want to be seen running about in the nude (i.e. not Terra) would stick to the areas with the least light, and fortunately, those were few and far between. Here and there, there were alleys unreached by the lamps, but even those were rare in comparison to what one would expect in a more normal city. Most alleys had street lamps positioned just outside them, presumably to make for fewer hiding spots for potential muggers. This meant, in practical terms, that Locke's search for the unclothed waitress could probably safely be limited to those alleys whose street lamps had burnt out.

As it turned out, Locke had only to search the nearest dark alley to find a young woman huddled up next to a wall, wearing essentially nothing.

"Hey, Celes!" he said. "I see a naked girl over there in the alleyway."

"Don't gawk," said Celes. "Just give her back her clothes."

"I thought we were looking for that waitress," said Locke.

"We are," said Celes. "And that's probably her."

"Oh," said Locke. "I didn't really think of that. I was distracted by…"

"You were distracted because she's naked," said Celes. "I get it. That's worn thin."

"No, no," said Locke. "I was just, uh…"

"Look, you're about to marry me, right?" Celes put her hands on her hips. "You need to stop looking at other women, then. Am I not enough for you? Are you not satisfied with me?"

"I'm plenty satisfied with you," said Locke. "I'm just a, well, I'm still me. And I only did this to get you a present."

"You stole a woman's clothes in the middle of a restaurant!"

"Would you rather I steal women's clothes someplace else?"

"No! I don't want you looking at other women at all, capische?"

"Fine," said Locke. "I can't believe you didn't want your present, though."

"You stole it, and in the process you turned into Sir Lust-a-lot after some random girl. How is that supposed to make me feel?"

Locke shrugged. "Hey, remember, I'm no humanitarian. I'm a thief!"

Celes gave Locke a look that was somewhere between "You did not just say that!" and "That's a kick in the teeth."

Locke noticed his mistake. "I mean, I'm a treasure hunter. A treasure hunter, not a thief."

Celes said nothing; instead of replying, she pulled a small notebook from her purse and scribbled something in it.

"Just what are you writing?" Locke demanded.

"Nothing," said Celes.

"It's not 'nothing,'" Locke said. "If it were 'nothing,' then you would have written it."

"Look," said Celes, "it's just for posterity."

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Locke.

"Nothing," said Celes. "Now get over there and give that woman back what's hers."

XXX

Arion the waitress sat hunched over, desperately trying to shield herself from onlookers with the tablecloth she took from _The Happy Octopus_ as she fled. While it managed to (barely) preserve her modesty, it did nothing to keep the cold away from her, and so she shivered. Actually, she could not tell for certain if the shivers came from the cold, from fear, or from sheer humiliation, but she knew they were there. They were there, and she was powerless to dispel them. Until a strange man and a dangerous-looking woman appeared at the entrance to her alley, she figured things couldn't get any worse.

The man looked like he had seen his share of adventures. He had that kind of worm look on him, like he'd tried the world on for size at a cosmic department store and then decided it didn't quite suit him. Those types were always the worst for casual conversation. Always downers. And they were horrible tippers, too. The woman looked even worse for wear, even in her fancy eveningwear. Though she had a sort of powerful beauty about her, she managed not to give off even a small whiff of innocence.

Arion shivered even more violently than ever, and she pulled her tablecloth as tightly as she could to keep the newcomers' eyes off of her.

The woman spoke. "You're the waitress from _The Happy Octopus_, aren't you?"

Arion sat still for a moment, sizing up the possible motives of the speaker. Had she come to finish her off? Was she the sorceress who had robbed her of everything else plus her dignity? Was she a diner peeved over having her meal disrupted and destroyed by a flock of birds? Was she with the Cult of Kefka? Worse, could she be an emissary of her ex-boss, come to extract payment for the damaged restaurant? No matter who she was, she spoke as one with a purpose for being there. Naked and defenseless, Arion judged it unwise to try any further to hide.

"I am," she said. "Or I was."

The woman's face softened at her answer, and Arion felt the tension break ever so slightly.

"Good," the woman said. "My fiance here would like to say something to you."

Those words vaulted "peeved customer" to the head of the list of possible identities for the woman, but Arion remained silent until the man said his piece.

"Hi," he said, clearly nervous. He made an honest attempt to avoid looking directly at her as he spoke, but he looked as though he were avoiding her out of fear, possibly fear of the woman, rather than out of politeness. "My name is Locke, and I have some things of yours."

Arion perked up. "Some things?"

"Please," Locke said, "put these clothes back on. I didn't mean to take them. I just get carried away sometimes. I'm a treasure hunter, you see."

No sooner did Arion see the bundle in Locke's outstretched hand than she snatched up her waitress uniform and pressed it in front of her. She backed away from the couple.

"Turn around while I put this on!" she said. They both looked away, and she quickly slipped into the clothes. Satisfied that she could move about in public again, she glared at the man. He took her clothes, did he? What kind of treasure hunter does that?

"You dressed yet?" said Locke.

"Not yet," Arion lied. She ruffled the fabric of her skirt a bit in an effort to sound like she still had a couple more articles to put on, and she inched up to where Locke stood. When she judged herself close enough, she stopped.

Arion thought the night over. She thought of how she no longer had a job. She thought of how no one seemed grateful to her for stopping a horde of rampaging loonies. She thought of how half of Jidoor saw her running naked through the streets. She thought of how she had been hiding in the dark, in the cold, with essentially nothing left to live for. She thought of her dead parents and how sad she had been the last time she saw her world crumble in front of her. She thought of how she still hadn't gotten her flute or her jewelry back. Arion packaged all of her emotions into a single thought, a single feeling, and she let that feeling flow through her. She let it give her strength. She let it drive her and her body as she lunged at Locke's unprotected back.

"RISING DRAGON REVENGE KICK!"

Locke went flying through the air for about thirty feet. He skidded to a halt on the hard stone, sprawled on his face, and he clutched what looked to be a very sore back.

"Jerk!" said Arion. "You took my clothes?"

"He did," said the woman, "and let me assure you that he will be punished, severely, for many a night. At my hand."

"You seem a bit more fair than he is," said Arion. "What is your name?"

"I am Celes Chere, soon to be Celes Cole," said the woman. "At your service. Please, let me do anything I can to make up for what my rotten slimeball of a fiance did to you tonight. Also, let me thank you for saving us from the Cult of Kefka."

"You noticed that I did that?" said Arion.

"Indeed," said Celes. "I think lots of people think the same, too."

"You know," said Arion, "not much has gone right today, but that's really nice to hear. Really nice."

"You sound like you could use a break," said Celes. "Locke, do you still have the waitress's possessions?"

Locke groaned.

"Please forgive him," said Celes. "He doesn't mean any harm, but he has a bit of a shady past. Lots of personal demons and all that. I'm still trying to reform him."

Arion actually smiled. "At least you aren't like that at all. No past to overcome."

Celes looked away and said nothing. Arion decided she had said something wrong, so she changed the subject. "Yeah, I'd like my things back. Must have been a pretty bad life for him to turn to crime like that."

"Honestly," said Celes, "he was probably just going for that magical flute you had. I doubt if he really meant to take your clothes with it, but it's hard to shake off years of trained actions. Believe me, training seeps deeper into your mind than any of us would like. It becomes a part of you."

Arion frowned. "So how are you going to punish him?"

"Let's just say he won't be enjoying much marital bliss in the near future," said Celes. "He's still got some of those typical male feelings in him, going after pretty women like that. I just need to beat those feelings out of him."

"Good luck with that," said Arion. "And as long as I get everything back, I think I'll be okay. The cultist attack was what cost me my job, anyway. I'll just have to make a fresh start somewhere else. That was a dead end job."

"Follow your dreams, miss," said Celes. "Do you have any?"

"I do," said Arion.

"Then use tonight as motivation. As opportunity. And, as soon as Locke gets your things back to you, count it as the beginning of something fresh for you. We caused you a lot of trouble, so I think it's only fair that we compensate you. What is your dream?"

"To be a musician," said Arion.

"Then take this 5000 GP," said Celes. "Take it to Owzer. Tell him I sent you, and tell him I said he needs to consider you. You played beautifully back at the restaurant."  
"Thank you," Arion said, but she had no intention of ever showing her face in Jidoor again.


End file.
